


Memory Lane

by itsallAvengers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Is More Than Willing To Offer Them To HIM, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallAvengers/pseuds/itsallAvengers
Summary: Suddenly, he's soaking - someone just threw a fucking water bomb or something, and it's not a big deal, itshouldn'tbe a big deal-But for some reason, it is.





	Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr!](https://itsallavengers.tumblr.com/)

Steve found him in the bathroom.

Strange place to go, really. Bath, shower, sink, toilet- hell, Tony had even installed a little foot bath thingy for when he went into the workshop barefoot and ended up with grease and dust and dirt all over his feet. But basically, what Tony was trying to get at, was that the place was full of water. Absolutely full of it. And that was the very same motif that was causing this rather spectacular panic attack, actually, so if he’d have had any sense when he’d been trying to make his tactical retreat, he really would have gone somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But he didn’t. He went to the bathroom. Because there was vomit crawling up his throat, and he  _really_  didn’t want to clean sick up from all over the expensive carpets that he’d just damn laid down.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The soft knocks against the door filtered through Tony’s ringing ears, and he knew that Steve was waiting for him on the other side of it. He tried to say something, but the air wouldn’t make its way out of his throat, couldn’t even get down into his lungs- it was stuck in the middle, stagnant. His head was wet, dripping down onto his shirt, clinging to the ends of his hair, disgusting and cold and terrible. He heard himself whine and curl in a little further against the toilet bowl- God, how  _embarrassing_. He was really going to hate himself when he worked out how to breathe properly again.

Oh God, he was soaking. Head and shoulders, drenched in water, and it was clean water, he  _knew_  that it was clean water but  _it didn’t feel clean_ , it felt like the sand-infused mudwater that he’d been half-drowned in years ago, over and over and over again, choking the life from his lungs, burning him from the inside out whilst everyone had laughed and jeered and gripped his hair as they dunked him-

-“Tony?” Steve called again, voice growing more concerned, “Tony, please let me in.”

He was being so stupid. It had just been a prank. A stupid prank, and one that hadn’t even been intended for him, he was sure. Clint would never have been that insensitive. He’d known that Tony should have been away for the day at a business meeting, he’d had no idea that it had been cancelled and Tony had decided to come home early, walking through the door just two minutes before Bruce had been supposed to. He and Clint had some stupid little prank war going on- that’s why he’d rigged up the stupid water bomb thing. And it… it was  _so inconsequential_ , dammit- on any other occasion, Tony would have been absolutely fine. Maybe it would have spooked him a bit, okay, but not this. Not the full-bodied shaking, eyes wide in terror, breath coming in too short to catch sort of panic that he was currently feeling. It was like…

He felt like he was there, all over again. The scene just flashed and reflashed _\- ‘build our missile, build our missile, build our missile or we’ll choke you to death’-_

He clamped his eyes shut and curled his hands around the cool rim of his arc reactor. He was not there. He was here. He was not in Afghanistan. He was in New York. He was not dying. He was okay.

“Tony!” Steve’s voice was desperate now, “Tony, just… I’m coming in, okay? I need to know you’re alright. I won’t touch you, I promise. Not unless you want me to.”

This was so mortifying. Steve- Steve was going to see him like this. Their relationship was still fairly new, still finding its feet, and now Steve was going to walk in and see Tony curled around the toilet like it was his fucking anchor to life, crying and snotty and shaking like a child because what, someone  _dropped a fucking water-bomb on his head?_ What was fucking wrong with him?

God, they were going to kill him. He had to build their missile or they were going to kill him, they were going to keep doing this and he couldn’t keep doing this-

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s tone changed- no longer scared and panicked, but soothing. Gentle. He wasn’t far away any more, he was in the room with Tony.  “Sweetheart, it’s alright. You’re completely safe.”

“I know I’m safe,” Tony gritted, refusing to open his eyes, “I’m not a fucking pyscho, Steve, I’m  _not.“_

“I never implied that you were,” Steve’s voice remained gentle and Tony heard the rustle of material, like Steve was crouching down, getting to Tony’s level, “I’m just reminding you where you are. With me. In the tower in New York.”

Tony wanted to scream at him. He also wanted to reach for him and hold on to Steve like he was the last person on fucking Earth. He had no idea which one to pick, so he chose neither and remained safely attached to the toilet, because he was fucking pathetic. Weak. He didn’t deserve to be an Avenger- how was he supposed to defeat supervillains when he became completely incapacitated by a splash of fucking water?

God, he was broken. He’d thought it had been getting better but  _it wasn’t_ , and he wasn’t ever going to be fixed. Not ever.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, covering his eyes with his hands and rocking backward. His hair… his hair was wet, and it was all he could think about. He tasted the disgusting muddy sediment in the back of his throat. Sand… sand was everywhere, except it wasn’t, because he was in New York. “I’m so… Steve, I’m—I don’t, I… I just-“

“Hey,” Steve soothed, and more shuffling sounds filled the room, “you got nothing to be sorry for, Shellhead. Do you want a towel? Your hair seems kinda wet.”

God, Steve was his blessing. He just knew- he knew what to do, how to act. He was sat there treating Tony like he wasn’t a freak. And he knew that maybe, afterwards, the rejections would come- the quiet admittance of the fact that Steve just couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle this on top of everything else- but for now, Tony was just glad that he was there. He heard the sounds of the towel slipping off the rack, and a few seconds later Steve spoke up again. “It’s next to your left hand. You can do it yourself, or I can help if you want?”

Tony didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t trust himself to see what was actually in front of him if he did. And on any other occasion, he would rather have died a thousand fiery deaths than ever try and let Steve coddle him when he was like this- he was a capable hero and absolutely able to deal with this all on his own, thank you very much- but now wasn’t any other occasion. Steve was already in here with him, and Tony… Tony trusted him, dammit. He’d be useful. He wasn’t going to hurt Tony, and so Tony couldn’t quite find it in him to say no.

“Please,” he murmured, “please… get it off for me, Steve. Help.”

“Sure,” Steve said easily, voice calm and gentle- a mix between the Cap Voice and the voice he used when they were both still only just waking up in the morning; soft and pleasant and full of warmth. It helped. It felt familiar. “I’m going to put the towel around your neck now, okay? Is that alright?”

He nodded, taking a large breath in through his nose. In and out. In and out.  _Find the rhythm,_  Yinsen had told him some of the first few times these things had happened,  _find the rhythm of your body and follow it._

Something soft and loose curled around his shoulders, and Tony felt a hand press through the fabric and into his neck. It was careful and considerate; nothing like what he was used to in the caves. “Hey,” Steve said fondly, his voice even and normal, “just me.”

“I know it’s just you,” Tony snapped, “you just told me you were going to touch me, Einstein- you losing your memory in your old age or something? Jesus.”

There was a short pause, and Tony’s heart found itself sinking. He didn’t know why his first instinct was to lash out- to be cruel and rude to the people who were only trying to help, but knew as soon as he’d said it that he shouldn’t have. But he could never just keep his fucking mouth shut, could he? Had to hurt everyone, even when they were good.

“Would you prefer if I were quiet?” Steve asked- and there was nothing confrontational in his tone, simply a question. He wanted to know, because he just wanted to fucking help. And here Tony was, treating him like shit.

A droplet of water fell from his nose to the floor, and he wasn’t sure whether it was from the water bomb or from his own eyes, but he flinched anyway. Just the sound. The sound of a fucking  _water droplet,_ now.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Tony whispered, voice teetering mortifyingly close to hysterical, “I don’t—I’m not even fucking… I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, God, this is embarrassing, you should just. You should go, go back downstairs, I’m fine, just having a moment-“

“-No,” Steve told him firmly, his hand beginning to wipe very gently across Tony’s hair, sweeping up the moisture, “I’m not leaving unless you’re absolutely sure that you’ll be okay and you don’t actively want me to be here, alright? Until then, I’m going to sit here and clean you up, and I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

The rational part of Tony’s brain was absolutely aware that there was nothing he needed to be safe from- apart from perhaps himself- but the irrational, scared corner of Tony’s brain just sighed with relief, and he felt himself reach a shuddering hand out blindly, finding Steve’s body close to him and sensing the warmth there. Captain America.  _Steve_. Steve was going to… he’d not let Tony get hurt. He was solid. Good. Firm. Home.

“Okay,” Tony mumbled, shuffling forward with jelly limbs and feeling Steve automatically open up for him, his hands curling very gently around Tony’s shoulders, warming him up immediately. The towel worked gently through his hair, and Tony’s neck wasn’t wet any more, he realised vaguely. The water had gone.

“I’ve got you,” Steve said softly, “s’alright. I’ve got you.”

Tony was tense up against him, ready to bolt at any moment. He still hadn’t opened his eyes yet; but he could tell Steve from smell and sense alone, and knew there was no danger in his embrace. Even so, it didn’t stop the memories. The feeling of ice running down his back; the lurching fear that every time they dunked him would be his last, that it would hit his chest just right and send him into cardiac arrest.

He shuddered. Three years. Three years today, he’d been taken. His life had changed forever.

All week, he’d been a little… on edge. He knew that. Jumpier than usual, quicker to panic. He’d looked at the date every morning and tried not to think about it, but it hadn’t worked. It had been that month, that week, and then  _that day,_  that the SUV had blown. That Tony’s whole life had crumbled around him and then been rebuilt from the ashes. This day three years ago had changed Tony’s life forever.

Sometimes, he had to work hard to convince himself that it was for the better.

“Your shirt’s still damp,” Steve murmured after a moment, his thumbs brushing across the soggy material over Tony’s shoulders, “shall we get that off you?”

He didn’t even want to know what Steve must have been thinking of him, in that moment. Of all the things that the team had gone through- Natasha in the Red Room, Bruce running from the whole world for years, Steve having lived through  _world war fucking two_ \- and yet it was Tony who was the most fragile. The weakest link. And he hated that Steve knew that, now. That the whole damn team knew.

Ugh. He really hated this day.

Eyes still shut, he nodded and then found the hem of his shirt, tugging jerkily. Steve, however, gently pressed open-palmed hands into his wrists and then slid down, taking Tony’s place and doing a far more efficient job. He’d gotten the shirt off quickly, and then to Tony’s surprise, he felt a shuffling a moment later as Tony was pushed away slightly, and then a soft warmth falling over his neck and pooling around his collar. It smelt like Steve.

“S’gonna keep you nice and warm,” Steve explained as he tugged Tony’s arms through the sleeves of his own oversized shirt. Tony went willingly, relief surging through him as the dampness all over him was replaced by the soft fabric of Steve’s clothes. Soon enough, Steve’s arm came back to his back and hugged him gently, a hold that would have been easy to slip out of if necessary, but firm enough to remind Tony where he was. Tony, exhausted by that point, slumped forward and buried his head into the crook of Steve’s neck. He felt shaky; the last dredges of terror still flitting around his brain like a plague that just wouldn’t leave. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

Steve’s hands stroked across his shoulder blades in a soothing motion, and he slowly rocked the two of them back and forth. Tony just sat there, hating himself, his hands curled tightly into Steve’s bare waist as he forced himself not to break, to sob. Neither of them needed that just then, Jesus.

Five months. He’d gone five months without an episode like this. He’d thought it had…. He’d just thought it’d been getting a little better, that was all. But apparently not. His brain still went into Total Shutdown mode from the most harmless of events. Like water.

God, the look on Clint’s face when Tony had frozen in that doorway and then stumbled straight back out of the room. Everyone except Bruce had seen that, because everyone had been taking a coffee break and so they’d all been in the kitchen. The archer’s eyes had been wide, horrified. He must have been completely thrown off by Tony’s reaction. Tony didn’t blame him, either. It was ridiculous, to go so overboard at a stupid prank.

“This isn’t-“ he began, trying to find the words, “-I don’t usually do this, you know, it’s not… I’ll be better, I swear, it’s just… this week, you know, it’s hard, but it won’t happen again, I just need-“

“Hey, hey, enough of that,” Steve told him, his voice concerned as he ran his fingers through Tony’s hair soothingly, “you don’t need to promise me something like that. This is a difficult time for you. The memories are closer to the surface. Harder to control-“

“That’s not the fucking point,” Tony hissed, hands balling into fists, “it doesn’t matter, I still flipped my shit at something ridiculous and I just – I just want to say that it won’t affect-“

“Would you expect me to apologise on Armistice Day?” Steve asked quietly, “if I jumped because Thor popped his bag of chips too close to me and I nearly flipped a table? Would you think I needed to be sorry for that?”

Tony stilled. “It’s different.”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve told him, “no, it really isn’t. We’re people, and we’ve been through a lot. Being perfect every day is never going to happen.”

Tony bit his lip, trying to focus himself to one thing as opposed to the billions of little side-thoughts that were battling for top spot in his head. He pressed his ear into Steve’s chest, felt his heartbeat. Steady and solid. Real. Steve… Steve was one of the strongest people Tony knew. His episodes were warranted, at least. If Tony had been through something like World War Fucking Two, maybe he could be excused as well. But it just felt so… pathetic, in comparison. What was a bit of water torture to the bloodiest conflict in history, really?

Tony sighed. He wanted to open his eyes, look at Steve. But he was cowardly. He was too scared. What if it wasn’t? What if everything- all of it had just been a hallucination, and Tony was right back where he started when his eyes opened once more- back in the cave, back under the water, nothing changed, nothing done.

“It’s all I could think about,” he said quietly, voice shaking, “this whole week, I’ve just been… over and over and over in my head, and then I walk in this afternoon and suddenly I’m  _soaking_ , and I just- I freaked out, I’m stupid, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want you to see that.”

It had just happened so fast. Tony had hardly even known what to do with himself. One moment he’d been fine, walking through the door with his briefcase in hand, just glad to be home early as opposed to late for once- and then suddenly he’d been  _there_ , and his face and hair and clothes were all wet and he was choking while they laughed and he couldn’t breathe and all he’d known to do was run, away, out, as fast as his legs could go.

He’d ended up here. In a bathroom, seconds from throwing up. All because of a practical joke.

“Anniversaries are never going to be easy,” Steve murmured, fingers making light circles against Tony’s back. His skin was so warm. “Unless they’re anniversaries for nice things, which I hope will be a little more pleasant than this. But… the bad ones? They’re going to stick around. They’re going to remind us of everything we’ve gone through. We’re going to get to that one day that changed everything, and it’ll suddenly just feel like an impossible, crushing weight. It’s all we can think about. I know that when my anniversaries come up- the day Bucky the died, the day _I_  died- I just feel like it’s all around me. There’s no escape.” He sighed, but then pulled back and took Tony’s face in his hands. The gentle pressure of Steve’s palms against his cheeks was what finally got Tony to pull his eyes open- and when he did, Steve’s delicate smile greeted him. Home.

“We are not the men we were,” Steve told him, “we are people with scars, and wounds, and pains that linger with us. You went through something terrible, and today you were very suddenly reminded of that. But you don’t have to apologise for that, or suffer through it alone. You’re not gonna get better if you’re treating it like it’s something to be ashamed of. It’s not. It’s just… it’s proof that you made it out. That you’re still here.” Steve’s face lightened and his thumb ran delicately over Tony’s cheekbone. “I for one, am incredibly grateful for that.”

Tony looked up at him. His hands still shook against Steve’s side. He could still taste the mud in the back of his throat.

But he also knew that sometimes, Steve could still feel the sensation of Bucky slipping through his grasp. That Natasha smelt the blood that had once covered her hands, and Bruce could still hear the screams of terror that he’d invoked.

_We are not the men we were._

Tony bit his lip and leaned forward, burying his head into the warmth of Steve’s chest. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for staying.”

“What else would I do?” Steve replied, kissing Tony’s temple softly, “I couldn’t just leave my best fella to struggle alone, could I?”

Tony couldn’t help it- the endearment was old and corny, and every time Steve said it he smiled. Maybe Steve knew that, and maybe that’s why Steve did it. Either way, Tony found his mouth twitching in amusement, and he giggled shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat and consciously making the effort to unclench his hands, relax himself a little.

He leaned back again, looking up at Steve reverently before pulling up for a soft kiss. It was short and gentle, but it was everything Tony knew he wanted. It was a grounding force. And tonight, he would probably wake up gasping for breath, clutching desperately at his heart and begging people who were long-dead to  _just stop hurting him,_  because his brain really was a bitch like that sometimes, and a shock like this wasn’t one you just got over in an hour.

But tonight, he would also have Steve. And he wasn’t a solution- but he damn well helped.

“I love you,” Tony told him, feeling something disgustingly similar to tears prick up behind his eyes, “I love you so much.”

Steve smiled, and he kissed Tony’s nose fondly. “well that’s good to hear,” he responded, “cause otherwise me sat in your bathroom stroking your hair would be a little weird.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to say it back, sugarplum.”

“Well, I  _have_ been known to be pretty contrary sometimes.” He grinned cheekily, but then leaned down and fluttered his eyelashes against Tony’s cheek- and God, that was such a Steve thing to do, Tony had never met  _anyone_ who actually gave honest-to-god Butterfly kisses any more, but of course, Steve didn’t care about that. “But I guess I love you too,” he murmured.

Tony let his eyes fall shut again, leaning his head against Steve’s as those seven simple words coated his restless mind like a blanket and offered him the sense of peace that he’d been longing for.

Steve loved him. For all his broken parts, apparently. That was nice. Better than nice, actually. 

Maybe it was even enough.


End file.
